It should be clear that the RSCM Course is important to me. In these pages, I have sought to explain why. But other things are important too, and I must turn my attention to them. For a while, I will be stepping away from the Music Box. If the Lord permits, I will be back.
As St. Cecilia might say, "Whatever happens, keep on singing."
--------
Among the young people (and sometimes those not so young), there are always many tears at the final Evensong on Sunday, and the ensuing farewells, the Course completed. It is right that it be so, for we do not know when or if we will meet again in this mortal life. Every year, some old friends are missing. The day will eventually come when we will be the ones missing, or when the Course is no more.
It occurs to me that I have probably attended more Courses than any but a handful of people. I began taking boys to Belmont Abbey and girls to Atlanta back in the mid-80's, and have been either there or at the St. Louis course almost every year since. The Belmont Abbey and Atlanta Courses no longer exist, though some of the principals from those days are active in other Courses. The boys and girls from those days are now adults, many of them with children of their own. I very much doubt that I will see any of them again in this life.
But one never knows. This year, Tom O. was with us in the bass section, attending the Course with his wife. Back in the 90's, he and his son, a fine young treble, were regulars at the Belmont Abbey Course. Tom and I were perched almost every year in the very back of the choir gallery at Christ Church, Charlotte for the Sunday Eucharist, standing on the stairs behind the organ case with no view whatsoever of the conductor because the gallery was filled with choristers. We had to sing by sensing when everyone else was singing, and every cutoff was an adventure. Ah, those were the days! Seeing Tom again after all these years made them seem as yesterday when it is past (Ps. 90:4).
As I have said several times in these pages, there is a special bond between those of us who have sung at these Courses, all the more so when we have sung together for a number of years. I believe that such bonds, and the similar bonds one has with others in this life, sometimes people we encounter only for a brief time, are a manifestation of the Communion of Saints which we affirm in the Creed. I can easily think of a score of choristers and directors with whom I have sung who have since passed out of this life, and I miss them, sometimes very much. Once, they were young; they learned to sing in the company of those of the generation before them and in turn they taught us, directly or by example. We are bound as choristers into a seamless web across the generations.
We will see one another again, in this life or the next. We will sing again with one another, and the years apart shall be as yesterday when it is past.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
RSCM Report, Part Seven: a Sermon
A Sermon by Castanea dentata, visiting Chorister, for the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis on the Fifteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time: July 11, 2010 AD
This is, obviously, imaginary. But it is what I wish I could have said to the people that day. I probably would have offended everyone in the room.
Deuteronomy 30:10-14
Psalm 69:1-4
Colossians 1:15-20
St. Luke 10:25-37 [the Good Samaritan]
-----
"But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?"
We sit before you, your neighbors. For the most part, we choristers are Episcopalians and Methodists. We are baptized. We have been sealed as Christ's own forever. And you bar us from the Table of the Lord. Even the dogs gather up the crumbs under the table. Dogs, yes; Protestants, no.
I warn you: by doing this thing, you eat and drink unworthily, eating and drinking damnation to yourselves, for you fail to discern the Lord's body [I Cor. 11:29] of which we are part.
We forgive you, and seek your forgiveness. We pray that the Divine Judge may have mercy on us all, for all our manifold and grievous offenses toward one another, from the Forty Martyrs of England and Wales, the Inquisition, and the Thirty Years' War, to the widespread prejudice against Roman Catholics in this country through much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, a prejudice that has not even now altogether disappeared. With all our hearts we pray for mercy, joining our hearts and voices to the prayer of Holy Mother Church throughout all the world; you will hear it shortly:
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem.
We will not eat from the Table, but we are here nonetheless; it is granted us to be servants at this heavenly Banquet. We are in the divine Presence, witnessing the Mysteries, and assisting in their due celebration in accordance with our office as Choristers. And that is enough: "For one day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of ungodliness." [Psalm 84:10-11, traditional BCP text]
Because we are barred from this Table, we celebrated the Eucharist at camp yesterday, according to the usage of the Episcopal Church. Our Lectionary differs in many of the Old Testament lessons from yours, so instead of Deuteronomy, we heard from the Prophet Amos:
"And the LORD said unto me, Amos, what seest thou? And I said, A plumbline. Then said the LORD, Behold, I will set a plumbline in the midst of my people Israel: I will not again pass by them any more. . . ." [Amos 7:8]
We, your neighbors, are that plumbline, as the Samaritans were for the Jews. What will you do about us?
You are our plumbline as well. The dignity and splendor with which the Divine Liturgy is conducted in this place, with liturgical texts and ceremonial in faithful continuity with Scripture and the Apostolic Tradition, stand in judgment on modern Episcopal liturgy. There was a time not so long ago when our liturgy was good too, often better than yours in these respects; it is less often so, these days. Instead of dignity, we embrace casual informality. Instead of stable liturgical texts firmly rooted in the Tradition, we offer a cafeteria of options, celebrating our own creativity and increasingly distant from both Scripture and Tradition.
This morning, we sang the Gloria from the Messe Solennelle of Louis Vierne in its proper place in the liturgy. We will shortly sing the Agnus Dei very nearly in its proper place. Such music invites the actual and complete participation of the faithful with their ears, minds, and hearts. This, too, is a plumbline. Do we have such music in the liturgy, or do we sing settings of the Ordinary of the Mass that, in their banal predictability, invite us to go through the motions without any genuine connection to the liturgical action? Simply moving our lips and making vocal sounds does not mean that we, in our hearts, are participating in the spiritual realities; bad music makes it almost impossible to do so. There is some music of this sort even here in today's liturgy. I will not name it, but I can describe it, a description that applies to vast quantities of music published for the "Catholic market":
-- Rising five-note scale at the beginning? Check.
-- Two-bar phrases, so as to demand no physical effort from the singers? Check.
-- Hint of modality, but not enough to be uncomfortable? Check.
-- Descending figure at the end? Check.
-- Copyright notice included and licensing fees paid? Check.
I know and respect musicians who write music of this sort, including two of the musicians represented in today's service booklet. They are devout Catholic musicians of high calibre, doing the best they can in the circumstances in which they find themselves. They are writing what the Church appears to want and is willing to sing. They can do no better until you ask it of them, and should you do so, they will.
In your tradition, you have Palestrina, Byrd, and Victoria; Mozart, Haydn, and Schubert; Bruckner, Duruflé, and many others, to say nothing of the Gregorian Chant that lies behind much of their work. You and we should sing their music in the liturgy, where it belongs. We Protestants have great composers in our tradition as well, from Orlando Gibbons and Henry Purcell and Heinrich Schütz to J. S. Bach, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Herbert Howells and Hugo Distler. We rarely sing them in our liturgies. Every time we offer some inane pseudo-religious pop song to the Lord, they are a plumbline, reminding us that we could do better.
I could say more. I could speak of my profound respect for your Catechism and its clear ethical teaching, something lacking in Episcopal circles. On the other hand, I could ask why, in direct contradiction to the plain teaching of Scripture, you do not permit your priests to marry [I Tim. 3:2, 8-11, 12]. Or I could ask why there are no women at your Altar. And you could ask why we are so casual about divorce. And then there are the issues which inflame passions so much that civil discussion becomes difficult; issues such as abortion and homosexuality. In these matters, we are again plumblines to one another. So long as we differ, we ought to keep listening, in case we might prove to be mistaken. "Be not highminded, but fear" (Rom. 11:20).
But I will finish by expressing my affection and esteem for your Holy Father, Benedict XVI. Papal authority has long been an obstacle in attempts at reconciliation between Catholics and Protestants. It is a thorny issue, and I have little to add to what has been said many times by both sides. But I believe that the Successor of Peter has at the least a moral leadership in the Western Church, both Catholic and Protestant, and that all of us should listen carefully to what he says. I consider him the leading contemporary voice in Christianity. We Anglicans have no one comparable, as much as I like our Archbishop of Canterbury, unless it is someone like the Archbishop of the Sudan, the Most Rev'd Daniel Deng Bul.
He, along with his four million fellow Anglicans in that war-torn country -- and your Roman Catholic bishops, priest, deacons, religious, and lay people alongside them, and Methodists, and many other Christians of all sorts -- regularly face danger, poverty, hardships of every sort, and the possibility of martyrdom. They do not back down from any of these things.
Their unity in witness is a reminder that there is much more that unites us than those few things that divide us. I do not know when it will happen, but there will come a day when our descendants will share the one bread, the one cup, at this Table. If nothing else, it will be on that Day when all things are made new [Rev. 21:1-6].
St. Paul writes in the Letter to the Colossians:
"For it pleased the Father that in [Christ] should all fullness dwell; and, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven. And you, that were sometimes alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled in the body of his flesh through death, to present you holy and unblameable and unreprovable in his sight." (Col. 1:19-22)
----
"Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen." (St. Jude, v. 24-25)
-----
As if in answer to my thoughts, Judith and I spoke with a devout Roman Catholic gentleman in the parking lot after the Mass. We spoke of our mutual love for the Body and Blood of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. We spoke of our unity in Christ, and we parted with handshakes and goodwill.
This is, obviously, imaginary. But it is what I wish I could have said to the people that day. I probably would have offended everyone in the room.
Deuteronomy 30:10-14
Psalm 69:1-4
Colossians 1:15-20
St. Luke 10:25-37 [the Good Samaritan]
-----
"But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?"
We sit before you, your neighbors. For the most part, we choristers are Episcopalians and Methodists. We are baptized. We have been sealed as Christ's own forever. And you bar us from the Table of the Lord. Even the dogs gather up the crumbs under the table. Dogs, yes; Protestants, no.
I warn you: by doing this thing, you eat and drink unworthily, eating and drinking damnation to yourselves, for you fail to discern the Lord's body [I Cor. 11:29] of which we are part.
We forgive you, and seek your forgiveness. We pray that the Divine Judge may have mercy on us all, for all our manifold and grievous offenses toward one another, from the Forty Martyrs of England and Wales, the Inquisition, and the Thirty Years' War, to the widespread prejudice against Roman Catholics in this country through much of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, a prejudice that has not even now altogether disappeared. With all our hearts we pray for mercy, joining our hearts and voices to the prayer of Holy Mother Church throughout all the world; you will hear it shortly:
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, dona nobis pacem.
We will not eat from the Table, but we are here nonetheless; it is granted us to be servants at this heavenly Banquet. We are in the divine Presence, witnessing the Mysteries, and assisting in their due celebration in accordance with our office as Choristers. And that is enough: "For one day in thy courts is better than a thousand. I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God, than to dwell in the tents of ungodliness." [Psalm 84:10-11, traditional BCP text]
Because we are barred from this Table, we celebrated the Eucharist at camp yesterday, according to the usage of the Episcopal Church. Our Lectionary differs in many of the Old Testament lessons from yours, so instead of Deuteronomy, we heard from the Prophet Amos:
"And the LORD said unto me, Amos, what seest thou? And I said, A plumbline. Then said the LORD, Behold, I will set a plumbline in the midst of my people Israel: I will not again pass by them any more. . . ." [Amos 7:8]
We, your neighbors, are that plumbline, as the Samaritans were for the Jews. What will you do about us?
You are our plumbline as well. The dignity and splendor with which the Divine Liturgy is conducted in this place, with liturgical texts and ceremonial in faithful continuity with Scripture and the Apostolic Tradition, stand in judgment on modern Episcopal liturgy. There was a time not so long ago when our liturgy was good too, often better than yours in these respects; it is less often so, these days. Instead of dignity, we embrace casual informality. Instead of stable liturgical texts firmly rooted in the Tradition, we offer a cafeteria of options, celebrating our own creativity and increasingly distant from both Scripture and Tradition.
This morning, we sang the Gloria from the Messe Solennelle of Louis Vierne in its proper place in the liturgy. We will shortly sing the Agnus Dei very nearly in its proper place. Such music invites the actual and complete participation of the faithful with their ears, minds, and hearts. This, too, is a plumbline. Do we have such music in the liturgy, or do we sing settings of the Ordinary of the Mass that, in their banal predictability, invite us to go through the motions without any genuine connection to the liturgical action? Simply moving our lips and making vocal sounds does not mean that we, in our hearts, are participating in the spiritual realities; bad music makes it almost impossible to do so. There is some music of this sort even here in today's liturgy. I will not name it, but I can describe it, a description that applies to vast quantities of music published for the "Catholic market":
-- Rising five-note scale at the beginning? Check.
-- Two-bar phrases, so as to demand no physical effort from the singers? Check.
-- Hint of modality, but not enough to be uncomfortable? Check.
-- Descending figure at the end? Check.
-- Copyright notice included and licensing fees paid? Check.
I know and respect musicians who write music of this sort, including two of the musicians represented in today's service booklet. They are devout Catholic musicians of high calibre, doing the best they can in the circumstances in which they find themselves. They are writing what the Church appears to want and is willing to sing. They can do no better until you ask it of them, and should you do so, they will.
In your tradition, you have Palestrina, Byrd, and Victoria; Mozart, Haydn, and Schubert; Bruckner, Duruflé, and many others, to say nothing of the Gregorian Chant that lies behind much of their work. You and we should sing their music in the liturgy, where it belongs. We Protestants have great composers in our tradition as well, from Orlando Gibbons and Henry Purcell and Heinrich Schütz to J. S. Bach, Ralph Vaughan Williams, Herbert Howells and Hugo Distler. We rarely sing them in our liturgies. Every time we offer some inane pseudo-religious pop song to the Lord, they are a plumbline, reminding us that we could do better.
I could say more. I could speak of my profound respect for your Catechism and its clear ethical teaching, something lacking in Episcopal circles. On the other hand, I could ask why, in direct contradiction to the plain teaching of Scripture, you do not permit your priests to marry [I Tim. 3:2, 8-11, 12]. Or I could ask why there are no women at your Altar. And you could ask why we are so casual about divorce. And then there are the issues which inflame passions so much that civil discussion becomes difficult; issues such as abortion and homosexuality. In these matters, we are again plumblines to one another. So long as we differ, we ought to keep listening, in case we might prove to be mistaken. "Be not highminded, but fear" (Rom. 11:20).
But I will finish by expressing my affection and esteem for your Holy Father, Benedict XVI. Papal authority has long been an obstacle in attempts at reconciliation between Catholics and Protestants. It is a thorny issue, and I have little to add to what has been said many times by both sides. But I believe that the Successor of Peter has at the least a moral leadership in the Western Church, both Catholic and Protestant, and that all of us should listen carefully to what he says. I consider him the leading contemporary voice in Christianity. We Anglicans have no one comparable, as much as I like our Archbishop of Canterbury, unless it is someone like the Archbishop of the Sudan, the Most Rev'd Daniel Deng Bul.
He, along with his four million fellow Anglicans in that war-torn country -- and your Roman Catholic bishops, priest, deacons, religious, and lay people alongside them, and Methodists, and many other Christians of all sorts -- regularly face danger, poverty, hardships of every sort, and the possibility of martyrdom. They do not back down from any of these things.
Their unity in witness is a reminder that there is much more that unites us than those few things that divide us. I do not know when it will happen, but there will come a day when our descendants will share the one bread, the one cup, at this Table. If nothing else, it will be on that Day when all things are made new [Rev. 21:1-6].
St. Paul writes in the Letter to the Colossians:
"For it pleased the Father that in [Christ] should all fullness dwell; and, having made peace through the blood of his cross, by him to reconcile all things unto himself; by him, I say, whether they be things in earth, or things in heaven. And you, that were sometimes alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now hath he reconciled in the body of his flesh through death, to present you holy and unblameable and unreprovable in his sight." (Col. 1:19-22)
----
"Now unto him that is able to keep you from falling, and to present you faultless before the presence of his glory with exceeding joy, to the only wise God our Saviour, be glory and majesty, dominion and power, both now and ever. Amen." (St. Jude, v. 24-25)
-----
As if in answer to my thoughts, Judith and I spoke with a devout Roman Catholic gentleman in the parking lot after the Mass. We spoke of our mutual love for the Body and Blood of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. We spoke of our unity in Christ, and we parted with handshakes and goodwill.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
RSCM Report, Part Six: The Sabbath
(Friday evening, July 9)
I sit in the grape arbor at the south end of Todd Hall as evening falls, gentle and cool after a hot day. I have (quietly) sung Evensong here on my own, eaten a one-ounce piece of dark chocolate, and watched the sun set.
The older adults have gone out to an upscale restaurant; I ate pizza and leftover sandwiches with the choristers, sitting at table with the proctors and their friends. Two of them had brought in for their friends some "Polar Pops," a local treat which is a 42-oz. soft drink with lots of ice in a styrofoam cup, and the whole table was having a fine time. These young people are the best of friends, and they comfortably welcomed me into their fellowship for the dinner. I count myself blessed.
The Course always includes some free time on Friday evening and Saturday. This year, the dress rehearsal at the Basilica was on Friday rather than Saturday, so almost the entire Saturday is free. I used to chafe at this waste of time, as Judas chafed at the waste of expensive ointment. I would fill the free Saturday afternoon with activity, most often planning hymns for the next season back home. I brought a briefcase of materials for that very task, but earlier this evening I firmly packed it into the car, hardly touched, for this is, God be praised, the Sabbath.
On Saturday, there will be one last Matins with Judith and Brother Vincent, time perhaps for another visit to the grape arbor, where I have written most of these RSCM Reports, a brief rehearsal of an hour or so, a free afternoon, and the Holy Eucharist after that. Then, a dinner of pasta and the talent show. It is a full, relaxed day with these fellow-choristers, young and old, whom I love.
"O what their joy and their glory must be,
Those endless Sabbaths the blessed ones see. . . ."
I have had to learn that one need not wait for that joy, that glory. It is here, now, one day of every seven. By gracious commandment of the LORD our God, the gift is given. We need only receive it.
(Saturday midday)
At the morning rehearsal, the choristers had prepared a surprise for Mr. Lole. At the first downbeat after warmup, instead of the appointed piece, they launched into "You'll never walk alone," arms across one another's shoulders and swaying as if they were on the football terraces. That was well done. After much laughter, he tried to start again. They had another song, the football song for Arsenal, the rivals of Mr. Lole's beloved Liverpool. That really "got" him.
Afer that, the entire rehearsal was lighthearted. To duplicate the spacing issues at the Basilica, he had the Decani basses go out by the doorway of our little chapel,and the Cantoris basses behind the altar at the far end of the room. This was to synchronize an entrance in the Vierne. He did the same with the tenors for another entrance.
He "got" me with his imitation of the (imaginary) crabby old lady in the back row of the Basilica -- "there is always one of them in a big place like that." We were to sing big consonants so that she could hear them. We did some of this, with comments from the "crabby old lady." A bit later, precisely as we inhaled for a fortissimo chord, he said in his old lady voice "I'm listening." I lost it, doubled over with laughter.
It was a Good Day, a holy Sabbath.
I sit in the grape arbor at the south end of Todd Hall as evening falls, gentle and cool after a hot day. I have (quietly) sung Evensong here on my own, eaten a one-ounce piece of dark chocolate, and watched the sun set.
The older adults have gone out to an upscale restaurant; I ate pizza and leftover sandwiches with the choristers, sitting at table with the proctors and their friends. Two of them had brought in for their friends some "Polar Pops," a local treat which is a 42-oz. soft drink with lots of ice in a styrofoam cup, and the whole table was having a fine time. These young people are the best of friends, and they comfortably welcomed me into their fellowship for the dinner. I count myself blessed.
The Course always includes some free time on Friday evening and Saturday. This year, the dress rehearsal at the Basilica was on Friday rather than Saturday, so almost the entire Saturday is free. I used to chafe at this waste of time, as Judas chafed at the waste of expensive ointment. I would fill the free Saturday afternoon with activity, most often planning hymns for the next season back home. I brought a briefcase of materials for that very task, but earlier this evening I firmly packed it into the car, hardly touched, for this is, God be praised, the Sabbath.
On Saturday, there will be one last Matins with Judith and Brother Vincent, time perhaps for another visit to the grape arbor, where I have written most of these RSCM Reports, a brief rehearsal of an hour or so, a free afternoon, and the Holy Eucharist after that. Then, a dinner of pasta and the talent show. It is a full, relaxed day with these fellow-choristers, young and old, whom I love.
"O what their joy and their glory must be,
Those endless Sabbaths the blessed ones see. . . ."
I have had to learn that one need not wait for that joy, that glory. It is here, now, one day of every seven. By gracious commandment of the LORD our God, the gift is given. We need only receive it.
(Saturday midday)
At the morning rehearsal, the choristers had prepared a surprise for Mr. Lole. At the first downbeat after warmup, instead of the appointed piece, they launched into "You'll never walk alone," arms across one another's shoulders and swaying as if they were on the football terraces. That was well done. After much laughter, he tried to start again. They had another song, the football song for Arsenal, the rivals of Mr. Lole's beloved Liverpool. That really "got" him.
Afer that, the entire rehearsal was lighthearted. To duplicate the spacing issues at the Basilica, he had the Decani basses go out by the doorway of our little chapel,and the Cantoris basses behind the altar at the far end of the room. This was to synchronize an entrance in the Vierne. He did the same with the tenors for another entrance.
He "got" me with his imitation of the (imaginary) crabby old lady in the back row of the Basilica -- "there is always one of them in a big place like that." We were to sing big consonants so that she could hear them. We did some of this, with comments from the "crabby old lady." A bit later, precisely as we inhaled for a fortissimo chord, he said in his old lady voice "I'm listening." I lost it, doubled over with laughter.
It was a Good Day, a holy Sabbath.
RSCM Report, Part Five: Alto, Tenor, or Bass?
As mentioned elsewhere, I was granted the grace of singing alto this year at the Course. Of the three parts that I can sing, it is my favorite, but there are usually plenty of women to cover the part, for adult women are not permitted to sing soprano at the Course; alto is their only option. Unless one is in a Choir of Men and Boys, one rarely encounters male altos, and they are generally considered to be eccentric relics.
There is some truth to this; most of the male altos I have known are indeed eccentric, comparable to their equivalents in the string orchestra, the violists. Female altos tend to be the most intelligent of adult female singers; that does not seem to apply to the men.
Perhaps with practice I could easily switch among the three parts, or have a beautiful seamless voice from top to bottom. Without regular practice, or no more than I get, my register shift is problematic, and more so in "alto mode" than when I am singing tenor or bass.
The alto sound spins in the forehead. At its best, it feels free, high, and pure, almost disembodied -- though in fact it is as firmly rooted in posture, inside space, and breath as tenor or bass. At the end of the Dyson Magnificat in D, the Amen is on the fourth-line high D, fortissimo. To sing it is, for a moment, to have the voice of an angel.
The challenges of alto: maintaining tall vocal space and support whatever the vowels, consonants, and dynamics; keeping the tone rich and warm, not fussy and contrived, which is especially challenging around the register shift; blending seamlessly into chest register at the bottom of the range. This last is more difficult when I am vocally tired; the notes become unreliable, crack, or fail to sound. As mentioned the other day, I inflicted quite a bit of this on the trebles in front of me at Sunday evensong, along with many faulty pitches on the higher notes.
The bass sound feels as if it is in the chest, earthy, masculine, and strong. To sing a bass line with energy is to be, for a moment, a mighty hero of old, striding across the pages of history. As a bass, one feels the responsibility of supporting the others, making it possible for them to soar. Men who sing bass tend to be solid, responsible citizens, the sort of men upon whom a community is built.
The challenges of bass: bringing some of the bright clarity of head voice all the way down to the bottom of the bass staff and below to keep the sound from becoming dull and "woofy"; staying agile and flexible, because bass lines frequently leap from low to high, and the nature of the bass vocal production tends toward less flexibility than the others; lightening up on the sound as it rises above the staff and incorporating falsetto and head register for the high notes; secure intonation, for if the bass fails in this, the choir fails.
Tenor lives at the junction of the two worlds, spirit and earth. For me, most of the tenor tessiatura is right at the register shift. The challenge is to cross back and forth with effortless fluency, and when I am vocally in "tenor mode," I can do this pretty well -- the very same part of the voice where I struggled this week while in "alto mode." Singing tenor demands a flamboyance which I lack. The tenor is always the star and routinely gets the girl; the bass occasionally gets the girl; the alto, never.
Lest I feel any pride in the ability to sing three voice parts, there are at least five of the young men, plus Lindsey Gray, the director of the RSCM who was visiting the Course for a couple of days, who could do the same, and probably better than I can.
I was disappointed with my singing this year. I peaked at the Wednesday Evensong, giving it my all for the Howells, the Vierne Kyrie (both of which I have mentioned repeatedly, for they were the finest music of the week), and the Dyson in D. Thursday showed the results, and I never really recovered. By the Sunday services, I was not singing very well; my tone was flat and lifeless, with lots of cracking on low notes, and insecure pitches on high notes, with most of the high D's and above entirely lacking.
Next year, if I am permitted to sing alto, I hope to do better. To that end, I have switched my voice for daily Matins at the church to alto. This, plus about fifteen minutes of warmup every morning, are about all of the singing I do outside of the leadership of choir rehearsals and Sunday services. If I sing in the alto range every day at Matins and use it more in choral rehearsals, that may be enough to make me more dependable next summer. At this writing, I have been home for over a week and can already see some progress, after a rocky start.
But when next summer arrives, I will probably have to sing bass.
There is some truth to this; most of the male altos I have known are indeed eccentric, comparable to their equivalents in the string orchestra, the violists. Female altos tend to be the most intelligent of adult female singers; that does not seem to apply to the men.
Perhaps with practice I could easily switch among the three parts, or have a beautiful seamless voice from top to bottom. Without regular practice, or no more than I get, my register shift is problematic, and more so in "alto mode" than when I am singing tenor or bass.
The alto sound spins in the forehead. At its best, it feels free, high, and pure, almost disembodied -- though in fact it is as firmly rooted in posture, inside space, and breath as tenor or bass. At the end of the Dyson Magnificat in D, the Amen is on the fourth-line high D, fortissimo. To sing it is, for a moment, to have the voice of an angel.
The challenges of alto: maintaining tall vocal space and support whatever the vowels, consonants, and dynamics; keeping the tone rich and warm, not fussy and contrived, which is especially challenging around the register shift; blending seamlessly into chest register at the bottom of the range. This last is more difficult when I am vocally tired; the notes become unreliable, crack, or fail to sound. As mentioned the other day, I inflicted quite a bit of this on the trebles in front of me at Sunday evensong, along with many faulty pitches on the higher notes.
The bass sound feels as if it is in the chest, earthy, masculine, and strong. To sing a bass line with energy is to be, for a moment, a mighty hero of old, striding across the pages of history. As a bass, one feels the responsibility of supporting the others, making it possible for them to soar. Men who sing bass tend to be solid, responsible citizens, the sort of men upon whom a community is built.
The challenges of bass: bringing some of the bright clarity of head voice all the way down to the bottom of the bass staff and below to keep the sound from becoming dull and "woofy"; staying agile and flexible, because bass lines frequently leap from low to high, and the nature of the bass vocal production tends toward less flexibility than the others; lightening up on the sound as it rises above the staff and incorporating falsetto and head register for the high notes; secure intonation, for if the bass fails in this, the choir fails.
Tenor lives at the junction of the two worlds, spirit and earth. For me, most of the tenor tessiatura is right at the register shift. The challenge is to cross back and forth with effortless fluency, and when I am vocally in "tenor mode," I can do this pretty well -- the very same part of the voice where I struggled this week while in "alto mode." Singing tenor demands a flamboyance which I lack. The tenor is always the star and routinely gets the girl; the bass occasionally gets the girl; the alto, never.
Lest I feel any pride in the ability to sing three voice parts, there are at least five of the young men, plus Lindsey Gray, the director of the RSCM who was visiting the Course for a couple of days, who could do the same, and probably better than I can.
I was disappointed with my singing this year. I peaked at the Wednesday Evensong, giving it my all for the Howells, the Vierne Kyrie (both of which I have mentioned repeatedly, for they were the finest music of the week), and the Dyson in D. Thursday showed the results, and I never really recovered. By the Sunday services, I was not singing very well; my tone was flat and lifeless, with lots of cracking on low notes, and insecure pitches on high notes, with most of the high D's and above entirely lacking.
Next year, if I am permitted to sing alto, I hope to do better. To that end, I have switched my voice for daily Matins at the church to alto. This, plus about fifteen minutes of warmup every morning, are about all of the singing I do outside of the leadership of choir rehearsals and Sunday services. If I sing in the alto range every day at Matins and use it more in choral rehearsals, that may be enough to make me more dependable next summer. At this writing, I have been home for over a week and can already see some progress, after a rocky start.
But when next summer arrives, I will probably have to sing bass.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
RSCM Report, Part Four: Laura
Two years ago at the Course, Laura was a proctor, a university student, and one of the leading trebles, a young woman akin to the ones I described in Part One of this Report. I clearly remember her and Lindsey, her friend, at the center of the senior girls in the Basilica, with our own Jennifer and Meredith in the group with them, singing the Stanford "Song of Wisdom" with that holy light in their eyes that I attempted to describe the other day as a characteristic of the Sisters of Cecilia. For the sake of the music and their friends, they were determined to do it right. And they did, with Laura right at the center of it.
That September, on the way home from study at the library, a drunk driver rammed into her car. She suffered many injuries, including massive skull and brain injuries, and she barely survived. The path since then has been hard for her, and equally hard for her parents and close friends. She has re-learned every basic activity of life, none of it coming easily.
I remember the photos of her in the ICU hospital bed, barely hanging on to life, with tubes and monitors in all directions. I remember pictures, many months later, of the first time she returned to her parish church, Weezer rolling her into the place in a wheelchair. I remember the photos of her first steps in physical therapy.
And I will never forget last summer's Course, when she came to some of the weeknight Evensongs and the Sunday services. At the final Evensong at Grace Church, I was located in such a way in the choir so that when I watched the conductor, Laura was right behind him with her mother, out in the congregation. She was obviously singing in her heart with us. I thanked God that she had advanced so far beyond what anyone had expected for her.
This year, she was at the Course as a full adult participant, along with her lifelong friend Lindsay (not to be confused with Lindsey, the other close friend mentioned above). Laura's accident has left her with aphasia, besides other problems that tax her strength and patience. She can sing, but she has great difficulty in processing words -- the choral texts as well as spoken instructions in rehearsal. I do not know how it is for her with music notation; it is likely that it is as difficult for her as written words. But she knows how to sing, and that survives. She loves music; she loves this Course and her friends who come to it.
The first rehearsal was a blur. Mr. Lole (the music director) took us through almost all of the music for the week at lightning speed, in order to get a sense of it. I cannot imagine how Laura got through it. There were times in rehearsals through the week when, looking at her from across the choir, I believe that she was entirely lost, without a clue as to what was being said, or what was to be done. But she persevered. Did she ever: to see her carefully puzzling out the notes and words of the "Hymn to St. Cecilia" as she was doing in one of the sectionals -- a piece she knew very well from at least one past Course -- was a study in perseverance. I thought of one of the Saints in the Calendar, Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky who faced a challenge akin to Laura's. Parkinson's Disease left him mostly paralyzed, but he completed his work of translating the Bible into Wenli, a dialect of Chinese, typing the final two thousand pages of it laboriously with the one finger of one hand which he could still move and somewhat control. He would find Laura a kindred spirit. She worked with equal intensity to sing with the choir this week; she has worked at many things with this sort of intensity for a long time now.
And she was a Presence. Often, she could not communicate with words. But she always communicated with gestures and smiles, expressing her continuing and obvious love both for her friends, and all of us, young and old, who sang with her.
On Sunday, she wore her red chorister's ribbon, reminder that she once sang as freely and beautifully as the girls I described the other day. Singing before the face of the LORD, surrounded by choristers and friends from little children and teenagers on up to the veterans of many summers, is as close to heaven as I will get in this mortal body. I suspect that it is the same for Laura, in her mortal body. For now, her song is tentative, much diminished from what it was, and she knows it. But it will not ever be so.
"O how glorious and resplendent,
fragile body, shalt thou be,
when endued with heav'nly beauty,
full of health, and strong, and free . . ."
(Hymn 621, "Light's abode, celestial Salem," which we sang to conclude Sunday Evensong)
The voice reflects the soul. It is as unique as a fingerprint, and as complete a revelation of the heart as anything in this life. It is likely to be even more so in the next, with all impurities washed away. Because of the deep waters through which she has come, Laura's voice will soar like an eagle.
"Now with gladness, now with courage,
bear the burden on thee laid,
that hereafter these thy labors
may with endless gifts be paid,
and in everlasting glory
thou with brightness be arrayed."
That September, on the way home from study at the library, a drunk driver rammed into her car. She suffered many injuries, including massive skull and brain injuries, and she barely survived. The path since then has been hard for her, and equally hard for her parents and close friends. She has re-learned every basic activity of life, none of it coming easily.
I remember the photos of her in the ICU hospital bed, barely hanging on to life, with tubes and monitors in all directions. I remember pictures, many months later, of the first time she returned to her parish church, Weezer rolling her into the place in a wheelchair. I remember the photos of her first steps in physical therapy.
And I will never forget last summer's Course, when she came to some of the weeknight Evensongs and the Sunday services. At the final Evensong at Grace Church, I was located in such a way in the choir so that when I watched the conductor, Laura was right behind him with her mother, out in the congregation. She was obviously singing in her heart with us. I thanked God that she had advanced so far beyond what anyone had expected for her.
This year, she was at the Course as a full adult participant, along with her lifelong friend Lindsay (not to be confused with Lindsey, the other close friend mentioned above). Laura's accident has left her with aphasia, besides other problems that tax her strength and patience. She can sing, but she has great difficulty in processing words -- the choral texts as well as spoken instructions in rehearsal. I do not know how it is for her with music notation; it is likely that it is as difficult for her as written words. But she knows how to sing, and that survives. She loves music; she loves this Course and her friends who come to it.
The first rehearsal was a blur. Mr. Lole (the music director) took us through almost all of the music for the week at lightning speed, in order to get a sense of it. I cannot imagine how Laura got through it. There were times in rehearsals through the week when, looking at her from across the choir, I believe that she was entirely lost, without a clue as to what was being said, or what was to be done. But she persevered. Did she ever: to see her carefully puzzling out the notes and words of the "Hymn to St. Cecilia" as she was doing in one of the sectionals -- a piece she knew very well from at least one past Course -- was a study in perseverance. I thought of one of the Saints in the Calendar, Samuel Isaac Joseph Schereschewsky who faced a challenge akin to Laura's. Parkinson's Disease left him mostly paralyzed, but he completed his work of translating the Bible into Wenli, a dialect of Chinese, typing the final two thousand pages of it laboriously with the one finger of one hand which he could still move and somewhat control. He would find Laura a kindred spirit. She worked with equal intensity to sing with the choir this week; she has worked at many things with this sort of intensity for a long time now.
And she was a Presence. Often, she could not communicate with words. But she always communicated with gestures and smiles, expressing her continuing and obvious love both for her friends, and all of us, young and old, who sang with her.
On Sunday, she wore her red chorister's ribbon, reminder that she once sang as freely and beautifully as the girls I described the other day. Singing before the face of the LORD, surrounded by choristers and friends from little children and teenagers on up to the veterans of many summers, is as close to heaven as I will get in this mortal body. I suspect that it is the same for Laura, in her mortal body. For now, her song is tentative, much diminished from what it was, and she knows it. But it will not ever be so.
"O how glorious and resplendent,
fragile body, shalt thou be,
when endued with heav'nly beauty,
full of health, and strong, and free . . ."
(Hymn 621, "Light's abode, celestial Salem," which we sang to conclude Sunday Evensong)
The voice reflects the soul. It is as unique as a fingerprint, and as complete a revelation of the heart as anything in this life. It is likely to be even more so in the next, with all impurities washed away. Because of the deep waters through which she has come, Laura's voice will soar like an eagle.
"Now with gladness, now with courage,
bear the burden on thee laid,
that hereafter these thy labors
may with endless gifts be paid,
and in everlasting glory
thou with brightness be arrayed."
Saturday, July 17, 2010
RSCM Report, Part Three: The Young and the Old
At any RSCM course there are several social strata, which are most clearly visible at mealtimes. At this course, there were four: the children, the young-and-mid teenagers, the older-teens-and-folks-in-their-twenties, and the old people (like me).
In front of me during the full rehearsals were two little girls, Bryn and Lauren. Both were irrepressible, with answers for every question, including quite a few that had not been asked. They were terrific. Across the way in Decani were Tom and Killian, whom I had the privilege of driving around St. Louis when we went offsite to the Basilica and the Science Center. They made me feel young again with their boundless energy, jokes, and non-stop chatter. There were many others, including not only the outgoing ones I have described, but the quiet ones who said little, but saw and experienced much. In a sense, the whole Course is for these children. It is for the moment when they hear That Sound for the first time in rehearsals, the sound I vainly tried to describe a few days ago. It is for the confidence they gain when they realize that they can do the job, as overwhelming as it always seems at first; they can hold their own with the teens and adults and be part of a top-notch choir. It is for the moment when they walk into the Cathedral Basilica for the first time and look up at the mosaics (Here are more photos, over a hundred of them).
And it is for the moment when they sing in that space, which is even better acoustically than it is visually.
Mr. Lole did a fine thing to begin our rehearsal in the Basilica: he started with the Stanley Vann treble anthem, and before he began that, he had the trebles sing a simple three-note arpeggio, stop, and listen. Above the voices of the tour guides, they (and we) could hear the three notes blending into a triad out in the room, going on and on in the vast space. Young or old, one can hardly remain unmoved by such as this.
At the other extreme, there are the Old People. This includes me, Mr. B., Brother Vincent, Miz Deb, Debra, and others. It has included for several years Eric and Judith from our parish. Others come and go, including the Music Directors and Organists. Mr. Simon Lole, our director this year, was personable and a distinct pleasure to be with at table and in conversation, besides his consummate skill in his musical duties and exquisite sense of fun. I am very glad that our young singers had the opportunity to work with him for a week; I hope he returns someday.
I asked this question the other day: what I can offer to support such choristers as we had at the Course? They sing with beauty, accuracy, and spirit; I miss notes, sing flat or sharp, crackle like an old witch on low notes, and for all I try, I can in no wise match the spirit of these young singers.
What can I offer? What can we Old People offer?
For one thing, Judith, Miz Deb, and I were the Cantoris Altos. Eric was one-third of the Decani Tenor section through the week. Debra is always a mainstay of the Decani Altos. Tom O., a friend from the old Belmont Abbey courses for boys and men back in the '90's, was a strong lead in the Decani Bass. Our presence serves as a foundation on which the younger choirmen can build to provide tenor and bass lines. As I said the other day, they are increasingly able to do this without us, but I think that our presence is still of use musically. Combined with us altos, the tenors and basses make it possible for the choir to sing four-part music. Crucially, it creates a context in which young men can grow from trebles into adult tenors and basses (and, Lord willing, an occasional alto). Without something like the RSCM Course, most of these young men would drift off, out of the choir and very often out of the church. By making the Course possible, we give them reason to stay around, and that is no small thing.
We show by example that it is possible for an Old Person to keep singing. This, I think, is most important to the girls. I have often wondered what happens to all of these confident, intelligent choir girls. Once they are adults, why are they not singing in parish choirs?
-- they get jobs that have limited (or no) time off on Sundays or choir nights, or keep them on the road for weeks at a time.
-- they get married, or otherwise committed into a long-term relationship. Their spouse or partner takes a dim view of them heading off for a week to an RSCM course, or going out for choir rehearsal instead of staying home, fixing dinner, and doing laundry.
-- they have babies. This irrevocably transforms life, and often allows little or no space for participation in a parish choir, especially if they are trying to work a job or continue schooling while raising children.
-- if they do venture into a parish choir, they are usually the only Young Person around, and the choir might well be singing at a very low standard and torn by interpersonal conflict. There is, at first blush, little enjoyment in this and little reason to make sacrifices to continue.
Babies grow up. Jobs come and go, and may eventually allow space for choral singing. Sometimes spouses and partners come and go. Because these girls (the guys, too) have the foundation of choral singing, they can always come back -- even once they become Old People like us. Perhaps they, like Eric and others, might bring their children to an RSCM Course and stay to sing with them. We have demonstrated how it is done, and we will welcome them with open arms. Hopefully, we can show them by example that one must keep on singing, no matter what, even after the years pile on and we no longer sing as we once could. If the standard is low, make it better. If there is conflict, "blessed are the peacemakers." And if one perseveres with most adult parish choirs, one eventually discovers the same special bonds of fellowship as are evident at the RSCM Courses; one discovers Family in a way that is hard to find anywhere else. Hopefully, we Old People are planting these seeds among the young folk with whom we sing at the Course.
A word must be said about the core group of adults of the St. Louis Course, whom I have mentioned: Mr. B., Br. V., Miz Deb, and Debra -- and, I suppose, me. Increasingly, Weezer and Lindsey must be counted in this group, for they are taking up much of the behind-the-scenes work that used to fall to Mr. B. There are sometimes thorny problems that arise, problems that threaten to undo the Course. Finances are high on the list; Mr. B. has been forced to be creative to keep the course fees affordable in the face of repeated cost increases on the part of Todd Hall and declining enrollments compared to, say, five or six years ago. Brother Vincent is much involved on the national level of RSCM America in keeping the whole array of Courses going along. Miz Deb and Debra have been with the Course from its beginnings; through thick and thin, they do their parts to keep the Course strong. Mr. B., Debra and I, and others, work all year to train choristers and make it possible for them to come to the Course. We often scrounge for scholarship money. We beg and cajole. We speak up for the RSCM at budget time, and to our clergy. Again, these are no small things.
Yes, we Old People are part of the choir. It is our duty, in many cases; it is also, and most distinctly, our delight. Most of us would say that it is the high point of the year.
In front of me during the full rehearsals were two little girls, Bryn and Lauren. Both were irrepressible, with answers for every question, including quite a few that had not been asked. They were terrific. Across the way in Decani were Tom and Killian, whom I had the privilege of driving around St. Louis when we went offsite to the Basilica and the Science Center. They made me feel young again with their boundless energy, jokes, and non-stop chatter. There were many others, including not only the outgoing ones I have described, but the quiet ones who said little, but saw and experienced much. In a sense, the whole Course is for these children. It is for the moment when they hear That Sound for the first time in rehearsals, the sound I vainly tried to describe a few days ago. It is for the confidence they gain when they realize that they can do the job, as overwhelming as it always seems at first; they can hold their own with the teens and adults and be part of a top-notch choir. It is for the moment when they walk into the Cathedral Basilica for the first time and look up at the mosaics (Here are more photos, over a hundred of them).
And it is for the moment when they sing in that space, which is even better acoustically than it is visually.
Mr. Lole did a fine thing to begin our rehearsal in the Basilica: he started with the Stanley Vann treble anthem, and before he began that, he had the trebles sing a simple three-note arpeggio, stop, and listen. Above the voices of the tour guides, they (and we) could hear the three notes blending into a triad out in the room, going on and on in the vast space. Young or old, one can hardly remain unmoved by such as this.
At the other extreme, there are the Old People. This includes me, Mr. B., Brother Vincent, Miz Deb, Debra, and others. It has included for several years Eric and Judith from our parish. Others come and go, including the Music Directors and Organists. Mr. Simon Lole, our director this year, was personable and a distinct pleasure to be with at table and in conversation, besides his consummate skill in his musical duties and exquisite sense of fun. I am very glad that our young singers had the opportunity to work with him for a week; I hope he returns someday.
I asked this question the other day: what I can offer to support such choristers as we had at the Course? They sing with beauty, accuracy, and spirit; I miss notes, sing flat or sharp, crackle like an old witch on low notes, and for all I try, I can in no wise match the spirit of these young singers.
What can I offer? What can we Old People offer?
For one thing, Judith, Miz Deb, and I were the Cantoris Altos. Eric was one-third of the Decani Tenor section through the week. Debra is always a mainstay of the Decani Altos. Tom O., a friend from the old Belmont Abbey courses for boys and men back in the '90's, was a strong lead in the Decani Bass. Our presence serves as a foundation on which the younger choirmen can build to provide tenor and bass lines. As I said the other day, they are increasingly able to do this without us, but I think that our presence is still of use musically. Combined with us altos, the tenors and basses make it possible for the choir to sing four-part music. Crucially, it creates a context in which young men can grow from trebles into adult tenors and basses (and, Lord willing, an occasional alto). Without something like the RSCM Course, most of these young men would drift off, out of the choir and very often out of the church. By making the Course possible, we give them reason to stay around, and that is no small thing.
We show by example that it is possible for an Old Person to keep singing. This, I think, is most important to the girls. I have often wondered what happens to all of these confident, intelligent choir girls. Once they are adults, why are they not singing in parish choirs?
-- they get jobs that have limited (or no) time off on Sundays or choir nights, or keep them on the road for weeks at a time.
-- they get married, or otherwise committed into a long-term relationship. Their spouse or partner takes a dim view of them heading off for a week to an RSCM course, or going out for choir rehearsal instead of staying home, fixing dinner, and doing laundry.
-- they have babies. This irrevocably transforms life, and often allows little or no space for participation in a parish choir, especially if they are trying to work a job or continue schooling while raising children.
-- if they do venture into a parish choir, they are usually the only Young Person around, and the choir might well be singing at a very low standard and torn by interpersonal conflict. There is, at first blush, little enjoyment in this and little reason to make sacrifices to continue.
Babies grow up. Jobs come and go, and may eventually allow space for choral singing. Sometimes spouses and partners come and go. Because these girls (the guys, too) have the foundation of choral singing, they can always come back -- even once they become Old People like us. Perhaps they, like Eric and others, might bring their children to an RSCM Course and stay to sing with them. We have demonstrated how it is done, and we will welcome them with open arms. Hopefully, we can show them by example that one must keep on singing, no matter what, even after the years pile on and we no longer sing as we once could. If the standard is low, make it better. If there is conflict, "blessed are the peacemakers." And if one perseveres with most adult parish choirs, one eventually discovers the same special bonds of fellowship as are evident at the RSCM Courses; one discovers Family in a way that is hard to find anywhere else. Hopefully, we Old People are planting these seeds among the young folk with whom we sing at the Course.
A word must be said about the core group of adults of the St. Louis Course, whom I have mentioned: Mr. B., Br. V., Miz Deb, and Debra -- and, I suppose, me. Increasingly, Weezer and Lindsey must be counted in this group, for they are taking up much of the behind-the-scenes work that used to fall to Mr. B. There are sometimes thorny problems that arise, problems that threaten to undo the Course. Finances are high on the list; Mr. B. has been forced to be creative to keep the course fees affordable in the face of repeated cost increases on the part of Todd Hall and declining enrollments compared to, say, five or six years ago. Brother Vincent is much involved on the national level of RSCM America in keeping the whole array of Courses going along. Miz Deb and Debra have been with the Course from its beginnings; through thick and thin, they do their parts to keep the Course strong. Mr. B., Debra and I, and others, work all year to train choristers and make it possible for them to come to the Course. We often scrounge for scholarship money. We beg and cajole. We speak up for the RSCM at budget time, and to our clergy. Again, these are no small things.
Yes, we Old People are part of the choir. It is our duty, in many cases; it is also, and most distinctly, our delight. Most of us would say that it is the high point of the year.
Friday, July 16, 2010
RSCM Report, Part Two: Brothers in Song
To the young choirmen of the St. Louis Course (especially those from our parish): an open letter
Most often, I sing tenor, or sometimes bass. This year, it was evident that I am no longer needed on either part. And it is unlikely that I will be needed for a long time to come, for you have grown into strong, confident singers, fully capable of carrying your parts, and I expect that you will be coming to the St. Louis Course for as long as you are able, as will I. My work with you is almost done, for this is the musical end that I desired as your choirmaster -- that you be granted a "voice for life," the ability to sing as an adult with skill, musicianship, and pleasure.
You have learned what it is to be one of two or three people on your side and voice part, undergirding the work of a large and enthusiastic group of trebles. This is the norm for choirmen, even in the great cathedral and collegiate choirs of our tradition. In Mr. Lole's last church position at Salisbury, there were six lay clerks. Six. This is one each of A, T, and B on each side of the choir, supporting sixteen trebles in daily Evensong plus Sunday Matins, Eucharist, and Evensong. In such a situation, it is up to you to get it right. Even in parish choirs such as ours, there are never enough tenors and basses. So long as you continue singing, much will depend on you. And you got a taste of that at the Course.
As well, you got a taste of what it would be like to live such a life, for Mr. Lole rehearsed us in a manner typical of the tradition. One rehearses for several hours a day as we did at the Course, culminating in the day's Evensong, with Sunday always in the background. Much of the rehearsing is what Mr. Lole calls "tweaking," as we did later in the week at the Course -- taking music that we have already learned, and improving details to make it better. It is easy to understand how after a year or two of this, the choir would become very good indeed, as the Salisbury choir was and is.
In our own way, our Youth Choir has become pretty good. We rehearse only once a week, hardly over an hour; we sing services only about once a month. This limits our musical results, but allows you to have a life outside of music, as all of you do, and as you should. One thing is the same; much depends on you.
What we do in choir is of great importance. Our singing is an intensive offering of prayer before the Lord, in a time when much else is wrong. Through our voices, the Church sings its love for its Bridegroom:
"Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith:
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets." (BCP p. 324)
I want you to "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind." The only way that I can influence you in that direction is by inviting you to follow the path which I have walked, and that is the path of music. When one sings something like the "Hymn to St. Cecilia," or the Kyrie from the Vierne Mass, how can one not love God? As one sings such music over the years, along with steady attention to the disciplines of Scripture and prayer, one's love for God grows like a tree by a stream of water. May it be so for you.
And I want you to "love thy neighbor as thyself." One gets a taste of this at the St. Louis Course, too. Perhaps it is because we work so hard together in the rehearsals. Perhaps it is the example of people like Weezer and H.J. and Michael, and many among the girls. Perhaps it is the water fights, or the Gentleman's Game. Whatever it is, there is a special bond between people who have been in the Course for more than a couple of years. You have experienced this, and I think especially this year.
I expect that you will see evil days in your lifetime, darker than any I have experienced. I may live long enough to see them with you. When such days come, remember these days of light and song at Todd Hall, these people. Remember the sounds we made together. Remember the games, the talent shows, the Evensongs in the little chapel, the Basilica, the church in Kirkwood, the laughter, and the tears. Above all, remember the Lord before whom we sing. He alone is the Rock, the sure refuge when all others fail.
Your servant in Christ,
Castanea_d
Most often, I sing tenor, or sometimes bass. This year, it was evident that I am no longer needed on either part. And it is unlikely that I will be needed for a long time to come, for you have grown into strong, confident singers, fully capable of carrying your parts, and I expect that you will be coming to the St. Louis Course for as long as you are able, as will I. My work with you is almost done, for this is the musical end that I desired as your choirmaster -- that you be granted a "voice for life," the ability to sing as an adult with skill, musicianship, and pleasure.
You have learned what it is to be one of two or three people on your side and voice part, undergirding the work of a large and enthusiastic group of trebles. This is the norm for choirmen, even in the great cathedral and collegiate choirs of our tradition. In Mr. Lole's last church position at Salisbury, there were six lay clerks. Six. This is one each of A, T, and B on each side of the choir, supporting sixteen trebles in daily Evensong plus Sunday Matins, Eucharist, and Evensong. In such a situation, it is up to you to get it right. Even in parish choirs such as ours, there are never enough tenors and basses. So long as you continue singing, much will depend on you. And you got a taste of that at the Course.
As well, you got a taste of what it would be like to live such a life, for Mr. Lole rehearsed us in a manner typical of the tradition. One rehearses for several hours a day as we did at the Course, culminating in the day's Evensong, with Sunday always in the background. Much of the rehearsing is what Mr. Lole calls "tweaking," as we did later in the week at the Course -- taking music that we have already learned, and improving details to make it better. It is easy to understand how after a year or two of this, the choir would become very good indeed, as the Salisbury choir was and is.
In our own way, our Youth Choir has become pretty good. We rehearse only once a week, hardly over an hour; we sing services only about once a month. This limits our musical results, but allows you to have a life outside of music, as all of you do, and as you should. One thing is the same; much depends on you.
What we do in choir is of great importance. Our singing is an intensive offering of prayer before the Lord, in a time when much else is wrong. Through our voices, the Church sings its love for its Bridegroom:
"Hear what our Lord Jesus Christ saith:
Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and great commandment. And the second is like unto it: Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself. On these two commandments hang all the Law and the Prophets." (BCP p. 324)
I want you to "love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind." The only way that I can influence you in that direction is by inviting you to follow the path which I have walked, and that is the path of music. When one sings something like the "Hymn to St. Cecilia," or the Kyrie from the Vierne Mass, how can one not love God? As one sings such music over the years, along with steady attention to the disciplines of Scripture and prayer, one's love for God grows like a tree by a stream of water. May it be so for you.
And I want you to "love thy neighbor as thyself." One gets a taste of this at the St. Louis Course, too. Perhaps it is because we work so hard together in the rehearsals. Perhaps it is the example of people like Weezer and H.J. and Michael, and many among the girls. Perhaps it is the water fights, or the Gentleman's Game. Whatever it is, there is a special bond between people who have been in the Course for more than a couple of years. You have experienced this, and I think especially this year.
I expect that you will see evil days in your lifetime, darker than any I have experienced. I may live long enough to see them with you. When such days come, remember these days of light and song at Todd Hall, these people. Remember the sounds we made together. Remember the games, the talent shows, the Evensongs in the little chapel, the Basilica, the church in Kirkwood, the laughter, and the tears. Above all, remember the Lord before whom we sing. He alone is the Rock, the sure refuge when all others fail.
Your servant in Christ,
Castanea_d
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
RSCM Report, Part One: Cecilia and her Sisters
"Sing for the morning' joy, Cecilia, sing,
In words of youth and phrases of the Spring;
Walk the bright colonnades by fountains' spray,
And sing as sunlight fills the waking day;
Till angels, voyaging in upper air
Pause on a wing and gather the clear sound
Into celestial joy, wound and unwound,
A silver chain, or golden as your hair."
(from "A Hymn to St. Cecilia" by Herbert Howells: text by Ursula Vaughan Williams)
I have written of St. Cecilia elsewhere in connection with her Feast, and that of C.S. Lewis:
Link
"... it once seemed odd to me that the Patron of Music was a young woman . . . Why not some grave and distinguished (and probably male) musician [such as J. S. Bach]?"
------
At the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis on Sunday morning near the conclusion of our RSCM Course, the choral disposition was such that I was beside a group of three girls in their mid-teens, all of them experienced red-ribboned choristers. I sought, with mixed results, to live up to their example. Their strong, clean, intelligent voices were a delight, and singing the "Hymn to St. Cecilia" alongside them was joy unbounded. The treble anthem "Hail, true Body" by Stanley Vann was even better, for I could listen without needing to attend to my own part. The girls (and the other trebles, boys as well as girls) sailed above the staff to G and A flat as if they were larks on a spring morning. One of them, Jenna, was singing directly in my ear. I can attest that she sang the Howells, the Stanley Vann, and the Vierne Messe Solenelle and other choral music appointed for the liturgy without a single error of rhythm or pitch, and with spirit, excellent diction, musical phrasing, and tone so beautiful as to melt my heart. Blessings be upon her! I would estimate that there were at least a half-dozen other girls in the room who probably sang every bit as well.
The tables were turned at Evensong, where I was behind these three girls, singing into their ears. I gave them plenty of bad singing, and I question what I can offer to support such choristers: more on that another day.
I have worked in choirs with other girls like these over the years; one of them (Meredith) was across from us in the Decani, and another (Jennifer) was in the congregation. One cannot understand St. Cecilia, or Music, without hearing them and seeing the light in their eyes as they sing something to which they are committed.
They are not the whole story. Their brothers in the choir, including a group of three teenage boys doing some excellent singing behind me on tenor and bass (Mike, Mark, and Spencer), were equally inspiring. And there is a place in the choir for old people like me. But, I repeat, one cannot understand Music without taking into account the singing of these girls and those like them in choirs of every generation.
"Through the cold aftermath of centuries
Cecilia' music dances in the skies:
Lend us a fragment of the immortal air,
that with your choiring angels we may share
a word to light us thro' time-fettered night..."
I dare not think of the "cold aftermath of centuries." All I ask is that the memory of these sounds and these choristers light my way through "time-fettered night" until next year's Course.
In words of youth and phrases of the Spring;
Walk the bright colonnades by fountains' spray,
And sing as sunlight fills the waking day;
Till angels, voyaging in upper air
Pause on a wing and gather the clear sound
Into celestial joy, wound and unwound,
A silver chain, or golden as your hair."
(from "A Hymn to St. Cecilia" by Herbert Howells: text by Ursula Vaughan Williams)
I have written of St. Cecilia elsewhere in connection with her Feast, and that of C.S. Lewis:
Link
"... it once seemed odd to me that the Patron of Music was a young woman . . . Why not some grave and distinguished (and probably male) musician [such as J. S. Bach]?"
------
At the Cathedral Basilica of Saint Louis on Sunday morning near the conclusion of our RSCM Course, the choral disposition was such that I was beside a group of three girls in their mid-teens, all of them experienced red-ribboned choristers. I sought, with mixed results, to live up to their example. Their strong, clean, intelligent voices were a delight, and singing the "Hymn to St. Cecilia" alongside them was joy unbounded. The treble anthem "Hail, true Body" by Stanley Vann was even better, for I could listen without needing to attend to my own part. The girls (and the other trebles, boys as well as girls) sailed above the staff to G and A flat as if they were larks on a spring morning. One of them, Jenna, was singing directly in my ear. I can attest that she sang the Howells, the Stanley Vann, and the Vierne Messe Solenelle and other choral music appointed for the liturgy without a single error of rhythm or pitch, and with spirit, excellent diction, musical phrasing, and tone so beautiful as to melt my heart. Blessings be upon her! I would estimate that there were at least a half-dozen other girls in the room who probably sang every bit as well.
The tables were turned at Evensong, where I was behind these three girls, singing into their ears. I gave them plenty of bad singing, and I question what I can offer to support such choristers: more on that another day.
I have worked in choirs with other girls like these over the years; one of them (Meredith) was across from us in the Decani, and another (Jennifer) was in the congregation. One cannot understand St. Cecilia, or Music, without hearing them and seeing the light in their eyes as they sing something to which they are committed.
They are not the whole story. Their brothers in the choir, including a group of three teenage boys doing some excellent singing behind me on tenor and bass (Mike, Mark, and Spencer), were equally inspiring. And there is a place in the choir for old people like me. But, I repeat, one cannot understand Music without taking into account the singing of these girls and those like them in choirs of every generation.
"Through the cold aftermath of centuries
Cecilia' music dances in the skies:
Lend us a fragment of the immortal air,
that with your choiring angels we may share
a word to light us thro' time-fettered night..."
I dare not think of the "cold aftermath of centuries." All I ask is that the memory of these sounds and these choristers light my way through "time-fettered night" until next year's Course.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Time, the Christian Hope, and Independence Day
Despite my brave words last week, I have hardly practiced at all this week, and have made no progress whatsoever with my Gradus ad Parnassum, and next week (though good in other ways) will be no better. One would think that, in the summer, I would have all sorts of time for such endeavors. Not this week.
"I don't have time" is, however, not a valid excuse, though I say it often enough to myself and others. The limits to our time are one of God's more subtle gifts; they force us to make choices. That, in turn, demonstrates what is important to us. If you will, God "puts us to the test" in this manner, to see how we will use the time He gives us.
Were our time unlimited, we would fritter it away. Look at the people who have large amounts of leisure; they are rarely the people who make a difference in the world. Instead of doing worthwhile acts of charity and service, they spend the day at the golf course, or the spa, or the shopping mall, or the coffee shop, or the casino, or they head out on a Caribbean cruise, or trip to China. Once there, they find it no different than the place from which they came.
If we cannot do much in an active way, we can still brighten the lives of those around us. I see this in the assisted living center where my Mother lives, and in the prison where I volunteer; some people make other's lives a little better, others don't. Or we can devote ourselves to holy contemplation. This makes a difference not only in the immediate surroundings, but in the universe, aligning it more perfectly with its Maker and Redeemer. If, through infirmity of body or mind, we cannot do even this, "they also serve who only stand and wait."
We do not have unlimited time, and that is a good thing: "Lord, teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom." There is an intimate connection between our finitude and our blessed hope of everlasting life. Not an infinite amount of time as we have it here; that would be a curse, not a blessing. Rather, it is something entirely different, something we can hardly yet imagine. The Holy Father, Benedict XVI, explores this at length in his fine encyclical letter Spe Salvi, "On Christian Hope."
But my time is limited (!!!!) and I can say no more for now.
------
Two old fellows sang the National Anthem at Matins this morning, a song which is unimaginable in any larger setting in this parish. But we sang it anyway, in the only venue where we could, and added some prayers for the nation. And downstairs in the larger church service, we sang the other National Anthem, "Lift Every Voice and Sing." That was well-done, and entirely fitting.
Nations, like individuals, do not have unlimited time. Ours has been given a large and good land, strong and noble leadership in our early days -- compare the early history of the United States with that of Haiti -- and a diverse and intelligent people. At the Day of Doom, we will be called to account for what we have done with these things in the time allotted to us.
May God grant us repentance and amendment of life, and may He bless and preserve the United States of America.
"I don't have time" is, however, not a valid excuse, though I say it often enough to myself and others. The limits to our time are one of God's more subtle gifts; they force us to make choices. That, in turn, demonstrates what is important to us. If you will, God "puts us to the test" in this manner, to see how we will use the time He gives us.
Were our time unlimited, we would fritter it away. Look at the people who have large amounts of leisure; they are rarely the people who make a difference in the world. Instead of doing worthwhile acts of charity and service, they spend the day at the golf course, or the spa, or the shopping mall, or the coffee shop, or the casino, or they head out on a Caribbean cruise, or trip to China. Once there, they find it no different than the place from which they came.
If we cannot do much in an active way, we can still brighten the lives of those around us. I see this in the assisted living center where my Mother lives, and in the prison where I volunteer; some people make other's lives a little better, others don't. Or we can devote ourselves to holy contemplation. This makes a difference not only in the immediate surroundings, but in the universe, aligning it more perfectly with its Maker and Redeemer. If, through infirmity of body or mind, we cannot do even this, "they also serve who only stand and wait."
We do not have unlimited time, and that is a good thing: "Lord, teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts to wisdom." There is an intimate connection between our finitude and our blessed hope of everlasting life. Not an infinite amount of time as we have it here; that would be a curse, not a blessing. Rather, it is something entirely different, something we can hardly yet imagine. The Holy Father, Benedict XVI, explores this at length in his fine encyclical letter Spe Salvi, "On Christian Hope."
But my time is limited (!!!!) and I can say no more for now.
------
Two old fellows sang the National Anthem at Matins this morning, a song which is unimaginable in any larger setting in this parish. But we sang it anyway, in the only venue where we could, and added some prayers for the nation. And downstairs in the larger church service, we sang the other National Anthem, "Lift Every Voice and Sing." That was well-done, and entirely fitting.
Nations, like individuals, do not have unlimited time. Ours has been given a large and good land, strong and noble leadership in our early days -- compare the early history of the United States with that of Haiti -- and a diverse and intelligent people. At the Day of Doom, we will be called to account for what we have done with these things in the time allotted to us.
May God grant us repentance and amendment of life, and may He bless and preserve the United States of America.
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